2 Fiddle Practice

2. FIDDLE PRACTICE "What's that 'orrible noise?" screamed Grandpa, his head popping up from a hatch on the fo'c'sle. "It sounds like a kraken pullin' the gizzards from a mermaid!" "Pardon!" said Jim Lad, moving one headphone aside. He'd been listening

to some very loud heavy metal music to drown out Nugget's fiddle practice. Nugget had just started learning the fiddle, which is very much like a violin, but of a type favored by pirates and rogues. Grandpa had played his fiddle across the oceans and seas until recently passing it on to Nugget. Many years ago, he had been given his fiddle by a mysterious sea hag, and seemed to recall that his music had not been popular with other pirates. He did attract crowds of landlubbing children whenever he played ashore, but— other than Nugget and Jim— he had never been fond of sproglets.

Unfortunately, Grandpa had been forced to give up playing when the king chopped off his hand— but that's a story for another time. Right now he was regretting that he had given it to Nugget. "Curses!" hollered Grandpa. "Why didn't I give her my flute instead?" But Grandpa knew why he'd given Nugget his fiddle. She'd been obsessed with it since she was a baby. She would rock wide-eyed in her crib as Grandpa skipped about her cabin, playing sea shanties on it and singing in his croaky voice.

On her fourth birthday, Grandpa had gifted the fiddle to Nugget and started to teach her how to play. He told Nugget that the more she practiced, the better she would get. That was a few weeks ago, but her playing hadn't improved much. It wasn't because Nugget was short on enthusiasm— she loved playing her fiddle and practiced several times a day. But whenever the Jolley-Rogers spotted her opening her fiddle case, they would all find something to do, as far away as possible. Jim Lad found that this was the best time to don his headphones.

Jim's dad usually resorted to ship maintenance and had finally gotten around to tarring the deadeyes. He was listening to country and western music on the ancient personal stereo he'd had since he was a boy. His headphones weren't as good as Jim's, but he was also farther away from Nugget and hanging over the side of the ship, caked in tar. Bones, the Jolley- Rogers' three-legged dog, was howling on the poop deck. Jim's mom was relaxing in the crow's nest, high up the mainmast, where the screeches of Nugget's strings were whisked away on the wind. She was eye- splicing a line and listening to Dull FM:

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